


No Problem, Doll

by moonflowers



Series: Self-Indulgent AUs [3]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Kinda, M/M, all the aus, so cheesy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 12:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3896506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonflowers/pseuds/moonflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas is a PI and Jimmy is the dame to die for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Problem, Doll

**Author's Note:**

> This AU is ridiculous and I love it. Prompted by irrationalgame <3  
> I stand by what I said when I first posted this - for the love of God somebody pls draw this.

It was after dark, and the streets were quiet. The city slept and all seemed as it should be. A stray cat knocked over a trash can in a deserted alley, but there was no one around to notice, and silence soon reigned again. Inside was another matter. Inside, underground, in the darkened dives of crooks and disreputable characters, the night was humming and buzzing like bees in the hive. 

Thomas Barrow, PI, sat in a quiet corner of the club. Not his usual spot, in case anyone was on the lookout for him, and somebody usually was. His hat brim was low over his eye, the ice in his untouched scotch melting in the stuffy heat of the room. He’d need a clear head tonight. This was Bates’ favourite hangout; if he didn’t show soon… well, Thomas would worry about that later. 

The band knew their work, and the small dance floor was full of couples dancing torturously slow and illicitly close. But they held no interest for him tonight. He doubted Bates or his cronies would be so careless as to take to the dance floor in plain sight, but he quickly looked to each of the patrons’ faces, to be safe. Nothing.  
Several beauties with short hemlines and dull eyes draped themselves over his table, but he waved them away. Some knew what he was about, and wisely kept their distance. One who looked unnervingly familiar raised a perfect eyebrow at him over the bar, and he touched the gun at his hip as she slinked off, just to be sure it was still there. 

The club was emptying, people peeling away in groups or pairs, lipstick smudges and sour breath, and Thomas was beginning to doubt Bates would show. Worst luck. The lead was cold, then. He’d have to see Carson tomorrow, see if he could dig up something new. Resigned, he pulled a pack of smokes from his pocket, and made to stand. A hand on his arm stopped him in his tracks. 

“Spare a smoke?”

Thomas blinked at the fingers resting on his sleeve, and tilted his chin up to look at the stranger who dared be so forward.

What a vision.

Eyes like the ocean and lips made for kissing. Gold hair curled immaculately over his forehead and skin like peaches and cream. The man cut a fine figure in his shirtsleeves, bowtie draped loose about his neck and shirt open wide at the collar, the dip of his throat in sharp shadow from the club’s dim lighting. Thomas could swear he were a fallen angel, if not for his bedroom eyes and the hickey on his neck. He could cover that bruise with one of his own making, run his fingers through the flawless gold, and make love long into the night, glow from the streetlamps coming through the slats in the blinds and streaking that perfect body with stripes of orange light. But first things first.

“Sure,” he tapped out a cigarette and held it to the blonde. 

“Thanks,” the newcomer tossed him a lazy smile that Thomas would bet on the grave of his poor departed mother was fabricated. That didn’t make it any less charming.

“No problem, doll,” Thomas indicated he should sit, which the man did, and far closer than was polite. Thomas was suspicious, as his job had conditioned him to be, but not enough so that he moved away. 

“Now what’s a fine man like you doing all alone, hmm?” the blonde purred. If Thomas didn’t know better, he could swear he saw the man’s eyes flick to watch the door over his shoulder. 

“That,” Thomas said, lighting both his own cig and that of the stranger, “would be telling.”

“Mysterious,” said the golden beauty with a throaty laugh, “I like you more every moment.”

“You got a name?” 

“Yes,” he blew smoke out the side of his sinful mouth, “do you?”

Hmm. He had a smart mouth. In Thomas’ experience, they were the most dangerous. He’d have to watch his step –  
His line of thought was obliterated as the blonde crushed their mouths together. His tongue, sweet with the taste of cocktail cherries, ran along Thomas’ lips, pulling the air from his lungs and the sense from his head. Thomas kissed back without a second thought. He couldn’t say how long he lost himself for under the attentions of the blonde beauty, but when the man finally eased away, he was wearing a smile as carefully calculated as before, but his cheeks were darker and eyes not so sharp. 

“Well Mr Barrow,” he said, now half astride Thomas’ lap, and how in the hell did this stranger know who Thomas was? He hoped to God he wasn’t under Bates’ pay. No, Bates didn’t have good enough taste for that... The weight of his gun was heavy at his hip, and he hoped to hell he wouldn’t have to use it. “It would seem the rumours about you are true.”

The flattery did not ease Thomas’ shock in the least. “I see. And might I ask who you are, since you seem to know so much about me?” 

“The name’s Jimmy Kent,” he said with a wink, “and I’m your key to catching Bates.”

“What do you mean? What do you know?” Thomas thought these questions were probably more important than ‘when will you kiss me again?’ Though only narrowly. 

“Questions can wait,” Jimmy straightened up, suddenly business-like, and stubbed his smoke out in the cut glass ashtray on the table, “right now we’ve got to split, because Bates’ man just sat at that table over there, and I don’t think that spectacular kiss will throw him off the scent for long,” the mischief crept back across his lovely face, and Thomas knew this man would be his downfall, “no matter how lovely it was.”

So PI Thomas Barrow let Jimmy Kent take him by the hand, unsure if it would prove to be the best or worst decision of his life. Either way, he fully intended to enjoy the ride.


End file.
